“You’re playing the creepy vibe a little hard,” I said. “Might as well go for broke, put on a black top hat and pipe in some organ music.”

He laughed quietly. It didn’t sound evil as much as it did rich and supremely confident. “There’s some irregularity with the meeting, I take it?”

Kincaid glanced at me and nodded.

“Local law enforcement wishes a representative to be present,” I said.

Nicodemus’s head tilted. “Really? Who?”

“Does it matter?” Kincaid asked, his tone bored. “The Archive is willing to permit it, if you have no objections.”

Nicodemus turned all the way around finally. I couldn’t see his expression, just his outline against the tank. His shadow, meanwhile, kept circling the room behind the shark. “Two conditions,” he said.

“Go on,” Kincaid said.

“First, that the representative be unarmed, and that the Archive guarantee his neutrality in the absence of factors that conflict with matters of law-enforcement duty.”

Kincaid glanced at me. Murphy wouldn’t like the “unarmed” part, but she’d do it. If nothing else, she wouldn’t want to back down in front of me—or maybe Kincaid.

But I had to wonder, what was Nicodemus’s problem with an armed cop? Guns did not bother the man. Not even a little. Why that stipulation?

I nodded at Kincaid.

“Excellent,” Nicodemus said. “Second…” He walked forward, each footstep sounding clearly upon the marble floors, until we could see him in the nearest floor lights. He was a man of medium height and build, his features handsome, strong, his eyes dark and intelligent. Hints of silver graced his immaculate hair, though he was holding up pretty well for a man of two thousand. He wore a black silk shirt, dark pants, and what could have been mistaken for a grey Western tie at his throat. It wasn’t. It was an old, old rope from the same field as his coin. “Second,” he said, “I want five minutes alone with Dresden.”

“No offense, Nick,” I said, “but that’s about five minutes longer than I want to spend with you.”

“Exactly,” he replied, smiling. It was the kind of smile you see at country clubs and in boardrooms and on crocodiles. “There’s really never a good opportunity for us to have a civilized conversation. I’m seizing the chance for a chat.” He gestured at the building around us. “Sans demolition, if you think you can refrain.”

I scowled at him.

“Mister Archleone,” Kincaid said, “are you offering a peace bond? If so, the Archive will hold you to it.”

“I offer no such thing,” Nicodemus said without looking away from me. “Dresden would count it as worthless coin, and his is the only opinion that really matters in this particular situation.” He spread his hands. “A talk, Dresden. Five minutes. I assure you, if I wished to do you harm, even the Hellhound’s reputation”—he paused deliberately to glance at Kincaid with naked contempt in his gaze—“would not make me hesitate for an instant. I would have killed you already.”